


Out of Bounds

by Jinnamorata



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinnamorata/pseuds/Jinnamorata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where physical punishment of Padawans is commonplace, 16-year-old Obi-Wan has made a serious error in judgment. Qui-Gon must teach him a lesson and help him earn his honor back in a stern but caring way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Bounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seaholly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaholly/gifts).



> This story features Qui-Gon giving a teenage Obi-Wan a disciplinary spanking, in a very fatherly, hurt-comforty sort of way. No sexual content.

"All right, Padawan, what do you have to say for yourself?" Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan gazed down at the toes of his socks, which were making small puddles of melted snow on the Glacier Jewel Hotel's hardwood floor. 

"What I did was wrong, Master. I'm sorry," he said. Taking full responsibility for his actions was the honorable thing to do, but under the circumstances it wasn't likely to earn him any mercy. Severe punishment was definitely in his future; Qui-Gon had as much as told that to the emergency response team. The only question was the form his punishment would take.

"I'm glad to see you're showing some common sense now," Qui-Gon said, "But Stars, boy, what possessed you to walk out to Ice's End in the first place?" His tone was scolding, but at least his voice no longer carried hints of barely-repressed disappointment and outrage, as it had in the Glacier Jewel security station.

Obi-Wan tried to think of a way to put this that would create as little trouble for his friends as possible. "Somebody offered to show me around the lookout point, and I said yes," he said.

"And this 'somebody' would be Ariella Flin?" Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan nodded once, still gazing at the floor. Ari was the one subject he most wanted to avoid talking about. 

"You like her and want to protect her," Qui-Gon said more gently. "I think perhaps you have a little bit of interest in one another."

Obi-Wan winced with embarrassment, but nodded again. He'd gotten the "passions of youth" lecture from his Master before, and knew that Qui-Gon did, in fact, remember what it was like to be sixteen. At the moment, Obi-Wan wished his teacher and adoptive father remembered a lot less well.

"Your loyalty is commendable but misplaced, Padawan," Qui-Gon said. "Ariella put you in a position where you had to choose between the demands of the Jedi Order and the acceptance of your peers. Not a very 'friendly' thing to do."

"She didn't make me go," Obi-Wan said. " I could have said it was wrong to leave our shift early. I could have said there was a good reason why we weren't allowed out past the red flags, especially when it was above freezing outside. I could have said a lot of things." He spoke with some bitterness, since he'd been well aware that he'd been making a short-sighted choice at the time. It was just that the possibility of being caught and punished seemed a risk worth running. For a while at least, playing on the melting glacier with a group of local teens had seemed like a chance to walk a broader, less lonely path than the one permitted to Jedi Padawans. But now that he stood under his Master's disappointed gaze, Obi-Wan was not feeling nearly as good about his decision as he had that afternoon.

"That's true," Qui-Gon said with weary regret. "You could have said a lot of things." He was silent a moment, and Obi-Wan could feel his fate hanging in the balance. "Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said finally, "I'm going to do you a favor." 

Obi-wan glanced up, words of gratitude practically on his lips. Qui-Gon cut him off by saying, "I'm going to paddle you."

Obi-wan's breath caught in his throat. He felt the blood drain from his face as he said, "Master, no." Qui-Gon's paddlings hurt. Obi-Wan hadn't been spanked in over a year, and he'd begun to hope he'd finally grown too old for it.

"I'm sorry, Padawan." Qui-Gon truly did sound sorry, as if he would have rather done anything but this. "You did something very foolish today. You risked your life and that of others for no good reason, and you've acted in a manner completely unbecoming a Jedi. Furthermore, I'm not convinced you wouldn't do it again under similar circumstances. You need a lesson you won't forget."

Protest was futile at this point, but Obi-Wan tried anyway. "You don't have to do this, Master. I already *am* learning a lesson. I feel bad enough about it as it is."

"That's good," Qui-Gon said, "but I want you to have something to look back on the next time temptation arises. Come here, please."

Feeling numb and a little sick, Obi-wan walked over to where his Master stood by the floor-to-ceiling picture window. The view outside was of an Arctic mountain range, beautiful and deadly in the current, unexpected thaw.

Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan's gaze and touched a panel by the window. The pane polarized almost immediately, making the window a dark smoke-color inside and opaque outside. The indoor lights flicked on in response to the dimness. 

"Put your belt and robe on the chair," Qui-Gon instructed, gesturing toward a graceful chair made of dark, turned wood, much like the rest of the room's furniture. Obi-Wan obeyed, folding his damp robe with numb fingers and then removing his saber belt. Adults generally preferred to disarm a kid before they spanked him. Stripping a Jedi of his weapon had another meaning, too. It meant that he'd dishonored himself, that his actions had placed him outside the community of the Jedi Order. The only way to earn back the right to wear his lightsaber was to accept punishment and take on the responsibility of improving himself.

One did not, of course, do anything as dangerous and disrespectful as to leave one's lightsaber lying on a chair. Obi-Wan detached the weapon and offered it to his Master hilt first. Qui-Gon accepted it gravely and attached it to his own belt. 

"Put one of those cushions over the back of the couch," Qui-Gon said.

The "couch" was really a high-backed wooden bench carved in the same style as the chair. It had blue, white and silver cushions tied to its back and seat for decoration and comfort. Ruefully, Obi-Wan thought he'd probably be carrying one around with him tomorrow. He untied one of the backrest cushions and balanced it on the carved wooden back of the couch. Wood was a great luxury on a world like this, and Obi-Wan wondered if the Glacier Jewel's decorator had any idea what uses his fine furniture was being put to.

"Lower your trousers and bend over."

Obi-Wan winced at the words. Qui-Gon wasn't about to paddle him bare, was he? You didn't do that to teenagers. Obi-Wan couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten a bare-bottom spanking.

He knew better than to talk back, however, and he set about undoing his trouser fastenings. He could feel his face burning with embarrassment as the fabric fell down around his knees. With nothing but his shorts between him and total exposure, he bent over the couch's back, resting his forearms on the seat cushion. 

"I want you to stay that way, and give some thought as to how you got into this situation," Qui-Gon said.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said miserably. 

Qui-Gon turned and walked into his bedroom. While waiting for him to return with the paddle, Obi-Wan looked down at the maddeningly cheerful pattern on the couch’s cushion and wished fervently he could turn back time and say no to Ari’s invitation to follow her out on the ice. Regret was plainly not going to get him anywhere, though. If there was one thing that Qui-Gon had taught him over the years, it was that once he had crossed the line of acceptable behavior, there was no saying “Oops” and going back to rub the mistake out. The only way he was going to get out of this situation was by taking what he had coming. 

Moments later, Qui-Gon returned with the paddle in his hands. It was about as long as Obi-Wan’s forearm and as wide as the palm of his hand, and it had been lacquered to a smooth, dark sheen. It wasn’t very thick, but then, it didn’t have to be. Experience told Obi-Wan that after a just few whacks with it, he’d have a burning bottom and tears in his eyes.

“All right, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, “tell me. What are you being punished for?”

This was the start of a formal ritual Obi-Wan had known since he was a child. He swallowed past the knot of dread in his throat and managed, “I was disobedient, Master.”

“Yes, you were. That’s a start,” Qui-Gon said. He walked around to the back of the couch, then took hold of the sides of Obi-Wan’s shorts and pulled them down to his knees. 

Mortified, Obi-Wan said, “Please, Master . . .”

“You will stop complaining at once!” Qui-Gon ordered. He punctuated his command with a sharp whack on Obi-Wan’s exposed behind. The sound seemed to ring off the walls, and then came the burning pain. Obi-Wan stifled his urge to cry out. “It was your own choices that brought you here, so I don’t want to hear any ‘Please, Master.’ You will speak when you are spoken to, and not before then. Is that understood?” Qui-Gon asked.

He would never paddle Obi-Wan in anger, and Obi-Wan sensed none of that emotion in him. However, he was very, very stern. Clearly, he meant this lesson to be taken seriously. “Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said, sounding appropriately chastened. 

“Now, where were we?” Qui-Gon asked. 

Peering around the side of the couch, Obi-Wan could see his Master planting his feet and gauging his distance. He held the paddle out and tapped it once against Obi-Wan’s upturned cheeks, obviously calibrating the first blow of his student’s real punishment. The darkened glass of the window was nearly as reflective as a mirror, and Obi-Wan could see that a rectangular bar of color had already spread across his bottom. He was sure he could not possibly stand any more swats like that—but then, he always thought that, and he’d always withstood it somehow.

“You had just confessed to having been disobedient,” Qui-Gon reminded him.

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. It was likely that he’d be saying those words a lot over the next few minutes.

“What does the Jedi Code say regarding obedience, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked.

Even as anxious as he was, Obi-Wan could still recite the passage from memory. It had been hammered into his head on many occasions—usually from the other end. “’A Padawan’s duty is to respect and obey his Master. He should be yielding in all things, and follow his Master’s guidance. It is not his place to question . . .”

“That’s enough,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan stopped. “Was this what you did today, Padawan?”

“No, Master,” Obi-Wan said.

“No. What ought to happen to Padawan learners who don’t follow the Codes?” Qui-Gon asked.

“They ought to be punished, Master,” Obi-Wan said. He hated being forced to admit all of the things he’d done wrong. It was embarrassing, and it made a paddling seem to stretch out forever. 

“I agree with you,” Qui-Gon said. “I’m going to give you six for disobedience.”

Six?! That was a lot, considering that Qui-Gon would probably break Obi-Wan’s misdeed down into several punishable offenses. This time, however, Obi-Wan had enough sense not to protest.

“Recite the meditation on contrition, please,” he said, and Obi-Wan heard his Master’s belt creak as he moved his arm back for the swing. 

“The Jedi life is devoted to discipline,” Obi-Wan began, and was almost immediately interrupted by a mighty *WHACK!* He jumped a couple of inches off the cushions and let out a yelp.

“Cry out if you need to, but continue with the recitation,” Qui-Gon said. He placed his hand on Obi-Wan’s back to keep him still, and this time Obi-Wan could feel his Master’s body turn as he geared up for the next one.

Obi-Wan continued through numb lips, “ . . . if I cannot live up to the demands of that discipline, then discipline will be imposed. . . .” 

*WHACK!*

The swat landed on the same spot as the first one. The pressure of Qui-Gon’s hand on his back kept him from jumping up, but he twisted away half-involuntarily, desperate for the next whack to strike still-unpaddled skin. “You will hold still,” Qui-Gon said sternly. “I don’t want to have to put you over my lap like a child.” That would be humiliating, but Obi-Wan would almost have preferred it. It had always seemed to him that Qui-Gon couldn’t hit quite as hard that way.

Struggling to keep the vow of obedience he’d disregarded earlier, Obi-Wan held the front edge of the couch in a white-knuckled grip and fought to remain motionless through his punishment. It took courage not to cry and plead like a baby, but he wanted to maintain at least that much of his dignity. He grimly continued his recitation: “ . . . I will accept my discipline and learn from it, and it will make me a pillar of strength against the Dark Side.” 

*WHACK!*

He’d been paddled on the same spot again, and this time it made his eyes water. He bit off a curse as he began the meditation on contrition again. “The Jedi life is devoted to discipline. If I cannot live up to the demands of that discipline, then discipline will be imposed. . . .”

His voice must have revealed his struggle against tears, because Qui-Gon spoke to him with less severity: “I am sorry, Padawan, but you have to learn. I’d rather you had a sore behind than a broken neck.”

Just at the moment, Obi-Wan was in too much pain to care what Qui-Gon was sorry for. He continued his recitation as if he hadn’t heard. 

*WHACK!* 

At least that one landed lower down, and the burning, aching spot on his cheeks got a temporary reprieve. The only problem was that the last blow had handed squarely across the undersides of his buttocks, where he would eventually have to sit.

“ . . . I will accept my discipline and learn from it, and it will make me a pillar of strength against the Dark Side.” 

*WHACK!*

That was five . . . he was almost done being punished for disobedience. Maybe there wouldn’t be too many more. The last paddling he’d gotten was a dozen swats on the seat of his trousers for playing hooky in Coco Town when he was supposed to be studying in the Temple, and maybe this one wouldn’t be much worse. 

*WHACK!*

Adrenaline had taken a bit of the edge off the initial agony, but it left his knees watery and his stomach a bit sick. He hadn’t been told to stop reciting his meditation, so he kept at it: “The Jedi life is devoted to discipline . . .”

“All right, Obi-Wan, you can stop for a moment,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan said. There was nothing false about his gratitude—he was thankful for even a few moments’ respite from punishment.

“You’re welcome, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. The comment sounded genuine, and Qui-Gon patted him on the shoulder, perhaps pleased that he was being brave. “I hope you’ll reflect on this lesson when you consider disobeying in the future.”

That couldn’t be all, could it? Maybe he really was too old to be spanked and Qui-Gon was calling it quits? Obi-Wan allowed hope to creep into his voice as he said, “Yes, Master. I will. I promise.”

“Good,” Qui-Gon said. “Now—what else did you do today to get yourself into trouble?”

Obi-Wan stifled a groan. He shouldn’t have been surprised it wasn’t over. It was obvious from the start that there was no way he was getting out of this with only six swats, even if they were on the bare behind. His best hope was that Qui-Gon would limit it to a dozen.

“I was . . . what I did wasn’t safe,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Yes, we’re getting to that,” Qui-Gon said dryly. “What else?” Oh, Force . . . how many offenses was Qui-Gon going to make him confess to?

Obi-Wan racked his brains over what he’d done that day. Qui-Gon might have had a specific misdeed in mind, or he might have just been trying to see if Obi-Wan admitted to something that the emergency response team hadn’t told him about. Both were equally possible. Obi-Wan finally came up with: “I was irresponsible.” 

“Yes?” Qui-Gon said, plainly expecting him to elaborate.

“I neglected my duty to the people here when I left my post before my shift was up. I created more work for the shift after me by leaving the pumps unattended,” Obi-Wan said.

“The machinery could have frozen over as well. Where would we be then?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan considered that an unlikely event. He and the local teenagers he’d become friends with had left the pumphouse only about a quarter of an hour before their relief showed up, and the machines were unlikely to freeze in that short amount of time. However, the possibility was a sobering thought. “I suppose there would have been a flood,” he said.

“I suppose we’d be up to our waists in glacier meltwater by now, and every vital function of this village would have come to a grinding halt,” Qui-Gon said. “The Order sent us here to help these people, not to play while their homes were destroyed. I’m extremely disappointed that you would leave your post. It was very un-Jedilike. If you were older, I’d have you in the pumphouse all night, and then have you stay there for your own shift in the morning. Maybe that would teach you the value of keeping at your appointed task.”

At night the machines really did freeze over, and working with them was an exhausting and nerve-wracking job. Only adults were allowed to run the pumphouse equipment at night. The handful of technicians who could fix the pumps when ice began to jam up their works were on constant alert all night. The chances that Obi-Wan’s dereliction of duty would actually have flooded this tiny resort village were very small, but allowing meltwater to back up in the pumps for even fifteen minutes would have complicated the technicians’ jobs. In fact, one of them had glared at Obi-Wan and muttered, “If you were my son . . .” and then looked bitterly away. He wondered if the man would be satisfied if he knew what was happening now. 

“I’m sorry, my Master,” Obi-Wan said quietly. 

“It’s proper that you should be, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. “What could you possibly have been thinking?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. It was just that he almost never got to spend time with people his own age, and they seemed to think it would be all right . . . “I wasn’t,” was all he could think to say. 

“No, you were thinking something,” Qui-Gon said. “I believe that you were busy lying to yourself about what was important. You found something you wanted to do, and you conveniently managed to avoid thinking about your commitments so that you could do it. I get the impression that you took the possibility of punishment into account when you made your decision—as if it were merely the price of doing business. I find that very disturbing. It tells me that I haven’t provided you with enough guidance of late. Fortunately for you, I plan to rectify that.”

The lecture hit its mark, because what Qui-Gon said was true. Obi-Wan had decided that going along on an adventure was probably worth the price of punishment. Now that he was being reminded of where his larger desires and duties lay, however, the trade off didn’t seem like such a good one. It wasn’t just that he was getting spanked, he’d also failed his Master and the ideals of the Jedi Order.

Obi-Wan swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He was still eager to have his paddling over, but now it was also so he could have the sense of having paid in full for his transgression. Saying “I’m sorry” again didn’t seem to be enough, so he only responded with, “Yes, Master.”

“Well, Obi-Wan, what do you think the consequence ought to be for you irresponsibility?” Qui-Gon asked. 

Obi-Wan thought they’d been over that. “I should be punished, Master,” he said again.

“I mean specifically. If you had to paddle a boy who’d done what you did, what would you give him?” Qui-Gon asked.

Well, that was a loaded question. Obi-Wan’s guilty feelings warred with his desire to be able to sit in the morning. 

“I’m appealing to your sense of justice, as a Jedi and a young man of honor,” Qui-Gon said. “What do you deserve, Obi-Wan?”

When he put it like that, there was no flinching from taking full responsibility. “Ten?” Obi-Wan asked timidly. 

“I think that would be fair,” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan nodded, although dread felt like a hard, cold rock in his stomach. “However,” Qui-Gon continued, “I’m only going to give you six, because we still have a lot of ground to cover.”

There was going to be *more?* “My Master . . . may I ask you something?”

Anticipating his question, Qui-Gon said, “It’s no affair of yours how many swats I intend on giving you. I may ask for your opinion on how many you deserve, but the decision is mine. You made a very poor choice this afternoon, and you’ve lost the privilege of making any more for the immediate future. I’ll be making the choices for you for a time. Now. Begin the meditation on contrition again.”

Miserably, Obi-Wan obeyed. “The Jedi life is devoted to discipline. If I cannot live up to the demands of that discipline, then discipline will be imposed. . . .”

*WHACK!*

He managed fairly well until number four, which caught him on the sensitive spot at the tops of his thighs. It hurt too much to stand, and he cried out and flung up his mental defenses against the pain. That was a mistake. It was the equivalent of jumping up or covering his bottom with his hands, and those things were absolutely not allowed. 

Up until that point Qui-Gon had sent nothing more severe than stern disapproval through their Force bond, but now he knocked aside Obi-Wan’s shields and hit him with a scathing wave of condemnation. The mental blow was accompanied by three very hard whacks across the backs of Obi-Wan’s thighs, in quick succession. “There will be none of that,” Qui-Gon said sharply. “You chose to leave your post and go wandering around an unstable glacier, where you might have been killed. Now, you’re going to take the consequences like a young Jedi. This is for your benefit, and you *will* pay attention.”

The pain and the shock of being yelled at overpowered Obi-Wan’s desire to keep his dignity, and he started to cry. Qui-Gon’s own shields went up then, which might have meant he felt bad for him, or it might have meant that he was totally disgusted. In any case, he didn’t sound as angry when he said, “All right . . . I’ll give you a moment to calm down.” 

It took Obi-Wan a couple of tries, but he managed to say, “Thank you, Master.” The tears were horribly embarrassing, but they helped ease some of his pain and guilt, and they were hard to stop. He heard Qui-Gon pull something out of one of the pouches on his belt, and then he leaned around the couch and pressed a handkerchief into Obi-Wan’s hand. “Thank you,” Obi-Wan said again, and set about drying his eyes. 

“You’ve got two more coming for irresponsibility,” Qui-Gon said. His tone wasn’t as scolding anymore; it seemed more that he was giving Obi-Wan the opportunity to prepare himself. “After that, I want to talk to you about the disrespect you showed to the sanctity of life when you took such a risk for no good reason.”

Uh-oh. That was going to be a bad one. It was never a good idea to get Qui-Gon going about the sanctity of life. Still, Obi-Wan couldn’t deny that he had it coming. “Yes, Master,” he said. 

“Are you going to be able to keep still?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“I have to,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “You’ll paddle me more if I don’t.”

“I don’t want to have to paddle you more,” Qui-Gon said. “I’d rather you showed some self-control and stayed where you are. However, I realize that may be difficult. Speaking honestly, Obi-Wan, can you hold still, or would you rather I put you over my lap?”

“Put me over your lap,” Obi-Wan said, without hesitation. There was supposed to be more dignity in just bending over and holding still while he was paddled, but he’d always been convinced that it hurt more. It also hurt his feelings more, not that he’d ever admit it. There was something about being made to bend over an object that felt like rejection. 

“All right,” Qui-Gon said. If he judged Obi-Wan harshly for his decision, it didn’t show. “Get yourself together, then.” He took his hand off Obi-Wan’s back and let him stand up. Still sniffling, Obi-Wan pulled his shorts and trousers up, although he didn’t bother fastening them. Instead, he held them up with one hand as he followed Qui-Gon into the small bedroom that had been his during their stay here. 

Qui-Gon moved Obi-Wan’s data reader off the bed and sat down, then pulled the pillow out from underneath the coverlet and set it on his lap. Obi-Wan didn’t need to be told what to do. He lowered his shorts and trousers again, and lay down. Qui-Gon guided him into lying with his elbows on the bed while his feet rested on the floor. That allowed him to get his left arm firmly around Obi-Wan’s middle, effectively preventing him from rolling away or flinging a hand back to cover his bottom—if Obi-Wan were foolish enough to try either of those things. 

Getting spanked like a little kid was shameful, but then, getting spanked at all was shameful. That was part of the punishment. Even still, Obi-Wan found the familiar position less upsetting. It made it easier to feel that Qui-Gon would still care about him once his punishment was over. 

“You’ve got two to go for irresponsibility,” Qui-Gon reminded him.

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. He began the meditation on contrition without being told, and as he took his swats he tried to focus on the words about learning to do better.

“All right,” Qui-Gon said, once he was finished. “Tell me this, Obi-Wan, because I really want to know. *What* . . . in the *world* . . . *possessed* you to go out on a melting glacier that’s about ready to drop into the sea?” Qui-Gon didn’t sound angry, but he was gearing himself up for a heck of a finish, that much was clear. 

Obi-Wan spoke meekly, knowing this wasn’t going to go over well: “Ari said she goes out there all the time.”

That explanation got him a vigorous spank, delivered with the palm of Qui-Gon’s hand this time. “I’ve asked you before whether you’d jump off a bridge if ‘everyone else’ was doing it, but never in my life did it occur to me that the answer might be *yes!*” He delivered three more hard spanks for emphasis. They probably didn’t count toward anything either; these swats were just for free. 

Although Qui-Gon’s hand spankings hurt almost as much as his paddlings, Obi-Wan didn’t feel as bad about them. Getting slapped across the behind a few times just meant that he’d been a bad kid. The paddle, on the other hand, was a serious and formal punishment. Getting paddled meant he’d failed as a Jedi in some way, and that hurt even more than the paddle did. Since he was just getting a hand spanking at the moment, he felt free to protest a bit. “Ow, Master, I’m sorry! I just told you the truth--I never said what I did was a good idea.” 

“How could you possibly have thought *anything* was worth risking five lives over—and that’s just you and your friends. I’m not even counting the emergency response team that had to fly you out of there,” Qui-Gon said. 

“They picked us up just inside the cordoned-off area . . . they didn’t *have* to fly us out,” Obi-Wan said. “They weren’t in any—“ Qui-Gon gave his excuses a very severe critique. “Ow! Master—All right, all right! Never mind!” 

“Tell me again what the Code says about the value of life,” Qui-Gon said. Qui-Gon wasn’t usually much of a Code-quoter, but when it came to that section, he could recite chapter and verse forward and backward. 

“It says ‘life is the ultimate value,’” Obi-Wan said.

“When is a Jedi justified in risking his life, or the life of another?” Qui-Gon asked.

“’Only in defense of another life,’” Obi-Wan said. He could see where Qui-Gon was going with this, and it made him all the more ashamed of his actions.

“When is a Jedi justified in using physical force?” Qui-Gon asked. He punctuated that question with another stinging spank. 

“Ow! ’Only in defense of another life,’” Obi-Wan repeated.

“So why am I spanking you, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked. Another spank.

“Because you don’t want me to get killed. Or to get anybody else killed,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Why’s that?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“Because ‘life is the ultimate value,’” Obi-Wan said. When Qui-Gon waited in expectant silence, Obi-Wan swallowed past a knot of remorse and added, “And because you care about me.”

“Because I love you,” Qui-Gon corrected. He was silent a moment, letting that sink in. When he began again his voice was quieter. “Now, at times I have no choice but to ask you to take certain risks. It’s simply part of what we do. However, I will *not* allow you to risk your life in order to impress a brainless girl.” Ari wasn’t actually brainless, but the spank Qui-Gon delivered at that moment effectively silenced Obi-Wan’s protests. 

Next he felt Qui-Gon turn to pick up the paddle, and Obi-Wan’s whole body tensed. “I’m giving you a dozen for your recklessness,” Qui-Gon said “It’s rather less than you deserve, but it’s the most I can give you at the moment.” The Jedi Order placed limits on the physical discipline a Padawan could receive, and one of the rules was that Masters could only impose forty swats at a time. Given the hand spanking Obi-Wan had just gotten, a dozen whacks would put him just about at the limit. This did not prevent Qui-Gon from continuing his punishment tomorrow, if he so chose. Obi-Wan bit his lip and didn’t complain. Things could always be worse.

“As you say the meditation this time, I really want you to think about it,” Qui-Gon said. He tapped Obi-Wan’s behind with the paddle and added, “*This,* believe it or not, is your best friend. It’s meant to help you become the Jedi that—in your better moments—you truly want to be. However, it won’t do you any good unless you choose to learn from it and resolve to do better. Understand?”

“Yes, Master. I understand,” Obi-Wan said. 

“You don’t want to grow up like the people we’re always having trouble with, do you? Like Prince Arkem of the Prinides, or Skage?” Both were people they’d had to deal with lately, and both were chiefly notable as grown men who’d managed to completely fail to acquire any self-discipline. Prince Arkem, in particular, had a habit of blaming everyone but himself for his misdeeds, and Obi-Wan had been alternately shocked and repelled by him. Qui-Gon’s bringing him up now was clearly a little hint about making excuses. 

“No, Master, I don’t want to grow up like that,” Obi-Wan said. He bowed his head, and then moved his elbows out from under him and lay down on the mattress. He couldn’t argue with any of the things Qui-Gon had said. It had been wrong to leave his post and walk out past the safety cordons on the ice, especially for so foolish a reason. Qui-Gon had justly relieved him of his lightsaber, the symbol of a Jedi’s honor. The best way to overcome his shame was to take his punishment with uncomplaining courage, and earn his honor back.

“Begin, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and started the meditation again: “The Jedi life is devoted to discipline—“

*WHACK!*

Tears quickly formed in his eyes, as much from sorrow as from pain. He continued more shakily: “. . . if I cannot live up to the demands of that discipline, then discipline will be imposed.”

*WHACK!*

“I will accept my discipline and learn from it, and it will make me a pillar of strength against the Dark Side . . .” The point of making a Padawan recite the meditation on contrition over and over again was to remind him of the ideals he had pledged his life to, and to encourage him to re-commit himself to them while he had a very compelling reason to want to behave himself. It nearly always worked, too—or at least it did for Obi-Wan. By the fourth whack he was crying openly, and saying the words with real conviction. 

There was actually a second part to the meditation, but it was up to individual Masters to decide whether their students were required to say it or not. Qui-Gon didn’t make Obi-Wan recite the final lines because he felt it was too difficult for young people to say them and mean them. After about the sixth whack, Obi-Wan added them anyway. “Thank you for this correction, Master. I am grateful you did not leave me in my errors.”

He had not said it to try and get out of further punishment, but for a moment he sensed a break in Qui-Gon’s resolve to make him pay in full for his mistakes. “You are welcome, my Padawan,” Qui-Gon said gravely, and somehow the next whack landed at an angle that didn’t quite transmit its full force to Obi-Wan’s bottom. Hope flared up in him that his paddling might be over early, a thought of which most of him was strongly in favor. Yet the part of him that already carried a Jedi Knight’s stern sense of justice would not have been satisfied if Qui-Gon let him off more easily simply because he’d spoken some sweet words. 

Qui-Gon appeared to agree with the Knight in Obi-Wan. The Master Jedi strengthened his mental shields, concealing whatever his true emotions might have been. The next whack was scorching, as if to make up for the half-hearted one. Obi-Wan yelped and balled his hands into fists behind his head. The smack had taken his breath away, and he only just managed to get the next words of the meditation out. He repeated the words about gratitude, however, partly because it seemed childish to drop them just because he’d gotten a particularly good swat, and partly because they were true. 

By that time his bottom burned almost as badly between swats as it did during them, and the next several seconds felt like the longest in his life. He spoke the words of the meditation through sobs: “The Jedi life is devoted to discipline . . .”

*WHACK!*

“. . . if I cannot live up to the demands of that discipline, then discipline will be imposed.”

*WHACK!*

//Force help me, there’s no way I’m going to live through the rest of this.// “I will accept my discipline and learn from it, and it will make me a pillar of strength against the Dark Side . . .”

*WHACK!*

//Act like a Jedi. You’re *going* to live through it, because you’ve earned every bit of it.// “Thank you for this correction, Master. I am grateful you did not leave me in my errors.”

*WHACK!*

“The Jedi life is devoted to discipline . . .” 

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the next whack. It never fell. Instead, Qui-Gon reached over and twitched down the hem of his tunic, covered his stinging behind. “It’s over now, Obi-Wan. You can stop,” Qui-Gon said.

Relief seemed to hit almost as hard as the paddle had, and for a few moments he cried like a child, without restraint. He heard Qui-Gon exhale slowly as he set the paddle aside. Then the Master Jedi turned back and rested his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I certainly hope you learned from that. I don’t want to repeat it,” Qui-Gon said. 

“You won’t, Master. I learned from it, Master,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Yes, I think you did,” Qui-Gon said, the sternness already fading from his voice. For a short time he rubbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder and spoke gently: “There, now. Shhh.”

As Obi-Wan began to get his emotions under control, Qui-Gon gave his back an encouraging pat and said, “Come on, let’s get you straightened out.” He helped Obi-Wan to his feet and assisted him in getting his clothing the right way round. His uniform had indeed become a mess. His outer tunic had fallen open once his belt was no longer holding it, and the bands of his surcoat had slipped down off his shoulders. His trousers had come practically off one leg, and somehow he’d lost a sock. He must’ve been kicking, although he didn’t recall it. Once he was more or less properly dressed again, Qui-Gon put his arm around his shoulders and walked him over to the corner. “I want you to stand here for a while and think about what happened today,” he said. “In particular, I want you to decide how you’re going to prevent something like this from happening in the future. When you know what you’re going to do, come and talk to me.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. He stepped forward and took up a position of attention in the corner. This was how his spankings had always ended, and he found some reassurance in the ritual’s familiarity. 

Qui-Gon left him then, and he was alone with his thoughts and his conscience. For the first few moments he just scrubbed at his sore eyes and let the shock of the worst paddling of his life fade. His bottom still felt hot and swollen beneath his trousers, although the sting was starting to change into something that was equal parts tingling itch and deep ache. He resisted the temptation to rub at it. He’d been taught that the pain of a spanking was like medicine, and that he wasn’t allowed to dilute the power of that medicine by interfering with it. Of course, rubbing wasn’t likely to help anyway. He was obviously going to be reminded of this lesson every time he sat down the next day, and quite possibly for some days after that.

He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the task he’d been given. There was no set amount of time he’d have to remain in the corner, but he had better have an acceptable plan for improving his behavior before he moved. If he didn’t, he’d be sent back to the corner—if he was lucky. If he was unlucky, he’d be sentenced to another string of paddle swats for disobedience. These would have to be carried out in the morning since he’d had his forty swats for the day. The thought of having to wait hours for more punishment made the prospect worse. He’d never had to try to go to sleep at night while anticipating a paddling the first thing in the morning, but he knew Padawans who had. For that matter, Qui-Gon had when he was a boy, and he’d found it so awful that he’d promised himself he’d never do that to his own student when he grew up. Obi-Wan supposed he should thank the Force for small favors. 

What was Obi-Wan going to be able to tell his Master? The most obvious thing to do was to promise him that he’d just refuse to go along the next time someone tried to get him into trouble. That was a decent plan as far as it went. Unfortunately, reality was more complex than that, and he was going to have to be careful in what he promised, since Qui-Gon would hold him to it.

What he’d done that day was wrong, and he didn’t dispute that. The problem was that he didn’t think all the feelings that had led him into trouble were wrong. Well, all right, he had no business trying to impress Ariella Flin, given the Jedi Order’s rules on the subject of romance. But there weren’t rules against a teenager’s desire to have friends his own age. The diplomatic circles he and Qui-Gon traveled in didn’t bring them into contact with many teens, and those they did encounter were usually part of a privileged culture that was light years distant from Obi-Wan’s own upbringing. Most of the kids he met outside the Jedi Temple laughed about his plain clothing and formal way of speaking. Many weren’t expected to be very obedient at home, and they thought it was really weird to have to say “Yes, Master,” to everything your guardian said. Even those who were polite thought he was peculiar, and he didn’t get many offers of friendship.

He tended to get along best with working-class teens, who didn’t have a lot of possessions and who often worked long hours alongside their parents. Ari and her friends were the children of the Glacier Jewel’s hotel employees, kids who were considered third-class citizens in their beautiful but incredibly remote home. The resort-village served the galaxy’s rich and powerful for a few months out of the year, and was pretty much desolate the rest of the time. Or at least that was how it usually was, before a record-level “heat wave” caused the place to start melting during the tourist season. Some Senator’s wife’s cousin’s sister--or someone like that--had called the Jedi Knights in a panic . . . not that there was a lot Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon could do. 

Obi-Wan had quickly found out that the local kids didn’t seem to behave themselves very well, which perhaps wasn’t surprising given that most of their parents worked too many hours a day to supervise them closely. That, and the fact that their village was a lovely place to visit but apparently a pretty unhappy place to live. 

Still, Obi-Wan didn’t blame his new friends for what he’d done. Bierk had even told Ari to quit hassling him about her little expedition to Ice’s End. In fact, what Bierk actually said was, “Would you just shut up? Doing what his Master says is a religious thing for him. What are you, stupid?” Then Ari had rolled her big, ocean-blue eyes and asked why religious people all had to be so *boring.* That had pretty much been the end of Obi-Wan’s Jedi-like self-control. 

He sighed. Well, he’d gotten what he deserved for listening to his hormones. 

By that time the burning feeling in his bottom had pretty much faded into a kind of hot, prickling itch, and he had to ball his fists under his arms to keep from rubbing it. //You are a Jedi,// he scolded himself. //You *do* have self-control, even though you don’t always act like it.//

Perhaps he should just go to Qui-Gon and say that he’d rather keep seeing his friends, but he would remain in their quarters during his off-work hours if that’s what Qui-Gon thought he should do. Then again, he could just imagine the stern look he’d get as Qui-Gon asked, “It that what you *need?*” His Master didn’t think that locking a Padawan up was always a good punishment—which was one of the reasons he believed in spankings, actually. He wanted Obi-Wan to show self-discipline out in the real world, like everybody else. 

Maybe he should just say, “Teach me how, Master. Show me how to be a good Jedi and still have friends.” Some Masters he knew would tell him that emotional attachments were forbidden for this very reason, and leave it at that. Qui-Gon didn’t believe in such an extreme interpretation of the Jedi Code, however. Actually, there were some notable sections of the Jedi Code he didn’t believe in at all, come to think of it.

Obi-Wan still had trouble figuring out how that worked, but Qui-Gon was the teacher. It all had to make sense somehow. Maybe he’d understand that sort of thing when he was older. 

He ran his hand back through the spiky mass of his hair and decided he’d just go ask Qui-Gon for guidance about how to stay out of trouble. There was never any shame in that. In fact, it wasn’t the usual Jedi practice to give a Padawan any choice in such matters at all, so no one could blame him for turning the question back over to his Master.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the doorway of his room, and wondered if he’d get in trouble for changing into his pajamas before he went to talk to Qui-Gon. His remaining sock and his trouser cuffs were still wet from his trek out in the snow, and he didn’t feel right wearing his clothes without his belt. Going without his lightsaber was almost as embarrassing as having to bare his behind, and he didn’t want to have to talk to his Master like that. He was sure he couldn’t look him in the eye. He felt lucky he wasn’t in the Jedi Temple, where there wasn’t a lot of privacy. A tearful-looking kid without his saber belt on essentially had a lit-up sign over his head reading: “Just Been Spanked.” He knew one boy who’d had to go to class like that after his Master punished him. Discipline was one thing, but that was just plain cruel, in Obi-Wan’s opinion. 

He decided to take a chance and hurried over to the small pack containing his things. If Qui-Gon scolded him and said that the shame was part of his punishment, then he could just claim that his clothes had been wet. It was even true. He quickly pulled out the soft tunic and trousers that served as his nightclothes and then stripped off his wet clothing, tossing it on a chair. He got the tunic on with no problem, but in his hurry he pulled the waistband of his trousers straight into the underside of his bottom instead of smoothly over it. That *hurt.* Force, that wasn’t fair! He’d taken the swats that were due him and he’d even been fairly brave about it. It wasn’t fair that getting dressed should hurt, too. He briefly considered trying to make Qui-Gon feel guilty about how hard he’d paddled him, but then thought better of it. Qui-Gon hadn’t sentenced Obi-Wan to a second spanking in the morning, and he hadn’t sent him out without his saber belt so the whole world would know what had happened to him. Not yet, anyway. Things could always be worse. He was better off considering himself lucky and letting the matter go.

He had to wonder, though—how bad a shape was his behind in? Experience had taught him that there wasn’t always a correlation between how much a paddling hurt and how much lasting damage had been done to his backside. It actually tended to annoy him when awful spankings didn’t leave marks—it was too embarrassing to be spanked to the point of tears and then find out his bottom was only a little bit red afterward. Since Qui-Gon was pretty good about not leaving marks, that had happened to him a lot. However, the deep, throbbing ache in his buttocks told him that this time the effects of his punishment were likely to be very noticeable. 

It wouldn’t do him any good to know for sure, but morbid curiosity led him to look. He went into the small ‘fresher attached to his bedroom and closed the door. There was a mirror on the shower stall door, and Obi-Wan dropped his trousers and turned around. Even with his tunic down, he could see what looked like a misplaced blush across the backs of his thighs. He lifted the hem of his tunic up to the small of his back and winced at the sight. This was not one of those times where a slightly rosy backside made him feel embarrassed about crying. His cheeks were burning red from about the point where the cleft between them started to halfway down his thighs. It looked as if he’d sat in scalding water—it felt something like that, too. He could identify the red, bar-shaped marks left by the three terrible swats he’d gotten for trying to block out his punishment, and Qui-Gon’s fingers had left unmistakable spank-marks on the sides of his cheeks, where the paddle hadn’t reached. He couldn’t keep from pressing his hand against his punished skin, and he found it hot, as if he had a fever. Most depressing of all were the pale half-circles in the dead center of his cheeks, which looked like the twin eyes of some hurricane. Those weren’t going to stay pale for long; his skin was already going purplish around them. By morning those were going to be nasty bruises. He pulled up his trousers, suddenly hurt and angry. Qui-Gon had never left those sorts of marks on him before. 

When he turned away he caught the reflection of his face in the mirror above the sink, and saw that didn’t look much better than his behind had. Tears had dried on his face and left it itchy and sore, and his eyes were tellingly red. His ashamed, resentful expression didn’t help his looks any, either. Hell, he didn’t need to go out without his saber belt to have the equivalent of a sign over his head reading: “Just Been Spanked.” Worse, at the moment he looked like the kind of difficult, stubborn kid who ought to be spanked severely. He bowed his head and washed his face in cold water without looking up again. 

He left the ‘fresher telling himself defensively, //I’m not a bad kid. I made a mistake. I paid for it and I really will become a better Jedi.// Perhaps he ought to have returned to the corner until his emotions were under control again; that was one of the reasons he’d been sent there, after all. However, he was already on the edge between rebelling and breaking down over the extent of his punishment, and going back to the corner would have pushed him into examining feelings he really didn’t want to have. 

He padded across the darkened living room to the open door of the master bedroom on the other side. He knocked on the jamb, and Qui-Gon called out, “Yes?”

Obi-Wan walked into his room, but he couldn’t look up at him. He didn’t know what he wanted to do—yell at him, beg for his forgiveness, or both. In the end he didn’t say anything, either because he was too broken up to do so, or because he didn’t consider the two of them on speaking terms, he wasn’t sure which. His silence probably seemed insolent, and he could just feel the weight of Jedi public opinion against him. He doubted that many people would blame Qui-Gon for giving him a smack for disrespect, forty-whack rule or no. As a budding traditionalist, Obi-Wan almost wanted one. 

Instead, Qui-Gon exhaled softly and said, “Obi-Wan.” His voice sounded weary and patient.

Obi-Wan looked up at him. The young Jedi was so angry at one or the other of them that he felt like crying, but told himself he’d be damned if he did, just to spite . . . somebody. Qui-Gon held his hand out and beckoned to him. “Come here.” The last time he’d said that Obi-Wan had ended up bent over the couch. He approached Qui-Gon with some anxiety, half expecting to be pulled over his lap again. Instead, the Master Jedi took him in his arms. 

Obi-Wan didn’t fight him, but he didn’t return the embrace at first, either. “What’d you hit me like that for?” he asked. Although he knew Qui-Gon had been within his rights to punish him as he had, Obi-Wan couldn’t help feeling as if some unspoken agreement had been broken. As far as he was concerned, it was right and proper for spankings to be very painful when you got them, but once they were over everything was supposed to be done and forgiven. It wasn’t fair to leave him sore for a long time afterward. Yet it was his hurt rather than his anger that found its way into his voice. No matter how resentful he felt, Obi-Wan was just too much a Jedi to speak angrily to his Master.

“Because, Padawan, you did a very foolish and dangerous thing,” Qui-Gon said. His tone was lecturing, but not unkind. “I would also say disrespectful, but since I don’t think you understand how dangerous it was, I assume your disrespect was unintentional. Preservation of life is the foundation of the Jedi Order. You endangered it needlessly. That would be an expellable offense if you fully understood what you were doing.”

Expellable? Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide. He knew he’d been disobedient, but he’d only been playing around. And yet . . . the way Qui-Gon described it, it did sound expellable. He hugged Qui-Gon back, seeking reassurance that he wouldn’t be sent away. 

“You didn’t see it that way, did you?” Qui-Gon asked. He cupped Obi-Wan’s head around his Padawan ponytail, and gently caressed his hair with his thumb. 

“But . . . Ari goes out there all the time,” he said. It was more an amazed comment than a protest. Qui-Gon made it sound like they were all playing Smuggler’s Roulette out there, when it had only seemed like exciting, make-believe danger. 

Qui-Gon stepped back and gave him a very stern look. “Yes, and if I have to pull Ariella Flin out of the bottom of a crevasse and send her home to her mother in a box, I won’t be at all surprised,” he said. 

It was a terrifying thought. Could Qui-Gon be right? The Master Jedi said some awfully clueless things sometimes, but then, he was often right about things too. Ari had said that the cordon was just to keep the tourists out, so they wouldn’t get hurt and sue the resort owners . . . “Why do you think it’s that dangerous?” Obi-Wan asked. He’d meant it as a truly honest question, but something about it seemed to appall Qui-Gon. 

He grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm and turned him around. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry!” Obi-Wan cried. He winced in advance as he felt Qui-Gon pull his arm back. The smack didn’t come, and Obi-Wan spent a very long two seconds wondering what Qui-Gon was going to do. 

Finally Qui-Gon nudged him toward the wall and said, “Go stand in the corner. I can’t believe you even asked that.” Obi-Wan obeyed, all temptation to defiance gone. Thank the Force for the forty-whack rule . . .

“It’s a glacier, Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon scolded. “It’s an ice cliff 300 meters above the ocean. It’s melting. Crevasses open up, and parts fall off. Other crevasses open up further inland, but they’re covered with two meters of snow, so you can’t see them. If you fall into one, you will probably die. If you don’t die immediately, the snow will fall on top of you, so rescuers won’t be able to see you. In that case you will probably freeze, suffocate, and die. That is why it’s dangerous, Obi-Wan. That is why there is a cordon blocking off all of Ice’s End, and why the emergency response team had to go and fetch you out.” Obi-Wan stayed silent, suitably impressed that he’d managed to rattle Qui-Gon out of his legendary self-assured calm. 

“It will be midnight in . . . three hours,” Qui-Gon said. “I could give you the paddle again then. Is that what you need, or are you willing to take my word for it that Ice’s End is *dangerous?*”

“I’ll take your word for it!” Obi-Wan said, panicked by the thought. “I’ll do what you tell me. I don’t have to understand why. I was only asking. Please, Master, don’t . . .”

Whether it was because of Obi-Wan’s fear or because of the trust implied in his offer of uncomprehending obedience, Qui-Gon spoke to him more gently. “All right, Obi-Wan, all right. Calm down,” he said. He seemed to take a moment to center his thoughts, and then he said, “This is why I punished you the way I did, young one. You don’t see the danger in what you did. I paddled you in order to introduce to you the element of danger that you could not see. You’re going to feel that paddling for a while, because I don’t want you to lose sight of that danger. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. He swallowed past the dryness in his throat and added, “I’m sorry Master. For scaring you.” It hadn’t even occurred to him that Qui-Gon must’ve been scared until the words came out of his mouth. 

//”Because I love you,”// Qui-Gon had said. 

Qui-Gon was silent for a moment, and then he said, “Thank you, Obi-Wan.” It wasn’t just a polite “thank you;” it sounded truly sincere. . 

The emotion made the Master Jedi very human for a moment, and Obi-Wan found himself forgiving him. Not that there was anything to forgive according to Jedi Code and custom, but privately, in Obi-Wan’s mind, there had been. The line between physical discipline and cruelty was a thin one made of trust, and Obi-Wan’s trust had been shaken when he felt that Qui-Gon had changed the rules about what was proper punishment. 

It hadn’t been entirely irrational for him to believe there were unwritten rules--Force knew, he’d heard “I’ll never . . .” from him enough times, when he’d described some particularly awful type of discipline that had been imposed on him as a boy. And, truth be told, Qui-Gon hadn’t broken any of those promises. Not quite, although he’d come close. 

Obi-Wan knew the betrayal was mostly a creation of his own mind, but it still made a big difference that Qui-Gon had acted out of a loving fear for his safety. Not that Jedi were technically supposed to feel love or fear. Then again, perhaps that made Qui-Gon the ideal person to teach him how to be a Jedi and still be human. 

“My Master?” Obi-Wan asked quietly. 

“What is it?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“I did what you asked me to . . . I thought about how to keep from doing something like this again,” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m glad to hear that, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said.

“May I turn around?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Please do. It’s distracting to have you standing there, talking to the wall,” Qui-Gon said. 

Obi-Wan turned around and glanced up somewhat nervously at his Master. Qui-Gon had his arms folded and his feet planted apart, the very image of the stern disciplinarian. The stance didn’t match the expression on his face, however. He looked as if he very much wanted to comfort him, and was searching for an excuse to do so that it wouldn’t undermine the lesson he was trying to teach. 

When Obi-Wan was little he could have simply done something cute, but cuteness was hard to come by these days. He decided to aim for an honorable acceptance of responsibility. “First, I want to apologize for what I did, Master,” he said. “You’re right when you say that I didn’t see the glacier as being all that dangerous, but that shouldn’t matter. My duty is to obey, whether I understand or not. I chose to disregard that duty.”

“True,” Qui-Gon agreed.

“And you were right when you said that I’d been lying to myself about what was important,” Obi-Wan said. Confessing the depths of that dishonesty was shameful, but not as shameful as keeping it a secret. He bowed his head and continued, “I told myself that my errors were less serious than they were, because I knew I would stop and turn back if I felt too guilty about it.” 

“I’m glad you recognize that, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. 

“I don’t like myself when I do things like that,” Obi-Wan said. “Thank you . . .” This part was going to be awfully hard to say. “ . . . thank you for not letting me make excuses. For making me face what I did.”

Qui-Gon seemed aware of what it had cost Obi-Wan’s pride to say that. His reply was gentle and brief, the better to allow the young Jedi to move on to other things. “You are welcome, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan sighed and said, “. . . and I am *so* sorry about showing disrespect to life. And to you, and the Jedi Order. I didn’t mean . . . that is, I knew what I did was wrong, but I didn’t think about it being *that* wrong. But it was. And I wish I could start over again and do the right thing.”

“Well, you can do the right thing from now on,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Yes, Master . . .” Obi-Wan said. He met Qui-Gon’s eyes and asked, “Can you forgive me?”

The lines of Qui-Gon’s face softened as he said, “You are forgiven, my young one.” 

“Thank you,” said Obi-Wan. He could feel some of the tension leaving his body even as he said it. For the first time since Ari had started badgering him about going out to Ice’s End, Obi-Wan was able to relax. 

“I *want* to keep from doing this again,” he said. 

“Well, that’s a relief to hear,” Qui-Gon said. It probably was, since a few minutes ago he thought he might have to get out the paddle again in order to make Obi-Wan obey. 

“I thought at first that maybe you should confine me to quarters after this, since I can’t get into trouble here . . . but then I thought that I could run into the same problem somewhere else. I mean, other people don’t live the same kind of lives we do, and they don’t always understand. But I can’t spend my whole life not talking to non-Jedi, can I?” Obi-Wan asked. He felt that the argument was pretty good, but there was a chance that Qui-Gon would like the idea of confining him to quarters anyway, and Obi-Wan was somewhat anxious about it. 

Qui-Gon looked as if he were trying not to seem amused by Obi-Wan’s artful attempt to keep from being stuck in his room for the rest of the time they were on this planet. “No, I don’t suppose you can,” he said.

“So I was trying to think of how I could . . . you know, go out and do things without getting in trouble. And I wanted to ask you about that, because I’m not that sure how to be with other people and not break Jedi rules. Because I get lonely, and I want to do what . . .” This was something he’d been sad about for a long time, and suddenly he couldn’t talk about it. When it became clear that his fight for control would be a losing one, he turned around to face the wall again. 

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, very gently. 

“They say we’re not supposed to have any attachments . . . at all, and that would be easier. But I don’t know how to do that. I’d rather be a good Jedi and still have friends, but I don’t know how to do that, either. Show me how to do it, Master. Because I want to learn. I don’t want to . . .” Tears prevented him from explaining his worries about having to choose between loneliness and dishonor. 

Qui-Gon walked up behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. “It’s all right,” he said. He moved as if to hug Obi-Wan’s back against his chest, but Obi-Wan ducked and turned around fast. The comfort was welcome, but he didn’t want any kind of pressure against his bottom. It ached enough as it was. 

“Sorry,” Qui-Gon said. He seemed a little disconcerted about how protective Obi-Wan was of his sore behind. Well, good. He’d paddled Obi-Wan very, very hard, and even though Obi-Wan didn’t deny that he’d deserved it, he felt like Qui-Gon ought to know. 

“That hurts,” he said, even though it hadn’t yet. 

“All right,” Qui-Gon said, holding his hands up in a gesture that suggested he thought Obi-Wan didn’t want to be touched at all. It wasn’t true, and Obi-Wan proved it by hugging him. Neither of them said anything for a while. Qui-Gon just patted his back and rocked him. 

After a time Qui-Gon said, “You’ve asked a very difficult question, young one. I can tell you the difference between proper and improper behavior, but I don’t know that I can tell you the exact amount of emotional attachment you can have without causing conflicts with your Jedi vows. Every Jedi seems to have his own answer, and I’m afraid even those of us who are old enough to know better don’t always know where to draw the line.” 

“Well . . . you love me, don’t you?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Very much,” Qui-Gon said.

“I love you too. So how can emotional attachment be bad?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Qui-Gon sighed and said, “You are asking a question I have asked myself many times, and I’ve never come up with a completely satisfactory answer. I’ve seen Jedis’ lives destroyed by forbidden loves and personal desires of which they cannot let go . . . but then, what would life be like if we got rid of love altogether? Over time, I have come to believe that it’s best to stop worrying about such things and put all one’s trust in the Force. Not that this plan doesn’t have its dangers. For one thing, as you’ve learned, it’s quite possible to lie to oneself when emotions are involved. That can dull your perception of the Force’s will.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said ruefully. He ducked his head down against Qui-Gon’s chest, and the Master Jedi reached up to stroke his hair, making a tender noise. 

“You’ve learned quite a bit today, haven’t you?” Qui-Gon asked. Obi-Wan nodded. His Master kissed the top of his head and said, “Poor fellow. You ought to go to bed.” It wasn’t yet Obi-Wan’s usual bedtime, but the idea was starting to sound like a very good one. 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. 

Qui-Gon stepped back and said, “Let me tell you what I’d like you to do tomorrow.” With his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, he walked him over to the room’s desk, where his communications materials were spread out. His things were never terribly organized, and it took him a few moments to find what he was looking for. He finally pulled something like a small, round pin out of a hard leather case, and handed it to Obi-Wan. “It’s a tracker,” he said.

Obi-Wan felt his face fall at the lack of trust that implied. “It won’t be transmitting a signal all the time,” Qui-Gon assured him. “It’s used for keeping track of Jedis’ locations during dangerous field assignments. You’re going to be doing moral battle rather than physical battle, but the principle is the same. At set intervals it’ll buzz, like this—“ Qui-Gon fiddled with it and then pressed it against the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. The thing made a tiny, soundless vibration, almost like the fluttering of an insect’s wings. “Then you hit it. Like so.” Qui-Gon pressed down on the button-like upper surface, and the buzzing stopped. “That sends a signal.” He picked up his data reader and punched a few buttons, then turned it to show Obi-Wan the screen. Time and location data had appeared as a line of luminous white text. 

“This isn’t a passive tracking system,” Qui-Gon said, holding up the little round tracker. “It requires your active response. *You* have to make the decision to report in at the preset times.” He looked Obi-Wan steadily in the eye as he said this, emphasizing the burden of responsibility. 

“If you were going into battle with that and you stopped responding, I’d know you were in trouble. The same principle applies here,” Qui-Gon said. “I *expect* that you will confine yourself to the pumphouse, the hotel, and the path between. You are not to be in any room but ours unless you contact me for permission. However,” he added, “who you choose to associate with during that time is your own affair. I can only monitor you—not every boy and girl on the planet.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said, hardly able to believe his luck that he wasn’t going to have to spend the rest of his adolescence locked in his room. “Thank you, Master. They’re really all right, you know. They just . . . well, they don’t live like Jedi.” That was, in fact, one reason why he was intensely curious about them. “I think if you got to know them, you’d like them.”

“Hmm,” Qui-Gon said. “We’ll see.” He placed the little tracking pin in Obi-Wan’s hand and said, “What shall I set the signaling interval at?” he asked. “Or perhaps I should put it this way—how often do you have to report back in order to keep you out of trouble?”

Obi-Wan considered that. Keeping ice and debris off the drag chains in the pumphouse required a lot of attention, and having to hit this tracking button all the time would get in the way of his work. On the other hand, having to report in fairly often would help counteract the temptation that came with hearing, “But it’ll only take a minute . . .”

“About every half hour?” he suggested.

“Done, then,” Qui-Gon said. “If you do well with reporting in—as I’m sure you will—we may be able to lengthen that interval, or dispense with the tracker altogether. Unless you find you’d rather keep it, of course.” Gesturing at the tracker he added, “It’ll take some of the pressure off you. While you’re wearing that, it’s my fault that you can’t do as you like. There’s no point in Miss Flin’s badgering you to run off on misguided adventures, because the decision isn’t yours to make.”

“That’s true,” Obi-Wan said, fingering the little tracking device with a new sense of appreciation. He still didn’t like the feeling of not being trusted, but the tracker would allow him to save face with his friends while still preserving his honor as a Jedi. 

“I have faith that you’ll use it wisely,” Qui-Gon said, resting his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “*However,*” and here his voice grew stern, “I can use that device’s signal to track you down if you stop reporting in, or if you report from an area where you should not be. I don’t think I need to tell you that if I’m forced do that, you’re going to be a very unhappy young man.” “No, Master,” Obi-Wan said. It was a possibility he didn’t even want to think about. 

Shamed by the justified threat, he was examining a hangnail on his thumb when Qui-Gon prompted, “Hmm?” and caused him to look up. “You’ll do fine,” the Master Jedi said gently. 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. However, he couldn’t help glancing nervously at Qui-Gon’s pack up on a shelf, which probably contained the dreaded paddle. 

Qui-Gon noticed the direction of his gaze and pulled the pack down. He set it on a corner of the bed and pulled the paddle out, then offered it to Obi-Wan, handle first. 

“Your best friend, Padawan. As I told you,” Qui-Gon said. 

Obi-Wan accepted it uncertainly, testing its weight in his hand. It wasn’t all that heavy, but it had a fearsome balance, like something meant to be used accurately and fast. He’d handled it before—in fact he’d been ordered to fetch it on more than one occasion—but he’d never had the chance to closely examine it. With his finger he traced the small Jedi symbol burned into the wood just above the handle. Like all the tools the Jedi used, the paddle had come from the Temple quartermasters, and had been made to precise specifications. Jedi Masters had a great deal of authority over their students, but they were not allowed to discipline them in any manner they chose. 

“They’ll show you how to use one of those when you have a student of your own,” Qui-Gon said. “If you choose to use that method of discipline, that is.”

Obi-Wan had been brought up to believe that spankings were good for children, but he’d never really imagined himself administering one. His thoughts on the matter had largely been confined to all the things he was not going to do to his student when he was a Master. 

“I don’t know if I would or not,” Obi-Wan said. “I guess it has helped me learn, but . . .” He didn’t add what he was thinking: //But Force, paddlings hurt.// He wasn’t sure he could inflict that kind of punishment on someone, unless they’d done something really terrible. He’d have to be awfully sure that a child needed a paddling before he could think about giving one. Maybe knowing that sort of thing was part of the wisdom that came with being an adult. 

“I just don’t know,” he repeated, turning the paddle around and handing it back to Qui-Gon, handle first. 

“That’s fair enough,” Qui-Gon said. “You’ve got quite a while to decide yet.” He accepted the paddle and placed it back inside his pack. As he did so, Obi-Wan caught a glimpse of a familiar translucent cube at the bottom of a mesh inner pocket.

Impulsively, he asked, “Master, can I borrow your copy of the Code?” 

Qui-Gon looked a little surprised and said, “Of course, Padawan.” He fished the holocube out and lightly tossed it to him. “Looking to see if I exceeded the discipline guidelines?”

The thought had never occurred to Obi-Wan. “I just wanted to access the Thlayla Elik-Nor holo,” he said. Master Elik-Nor had long ago been chosen to record important material on repentance and the resolve to do better. Her computerized personality was especially good at encouraging young people to improve their behavior without shaming or belittling them. Obi-Wan had taken comfort in the program in the past.

“Ah, of course,” Qui-Gon said. He seemed to regret teasing him.

Obi-Wan polished the lint of the holocube on the fabric of his pajamas. Qui-Gon’s copy of the Code didn’t see a lot of use. He’d memorized all the parts he really liked, and tended to ignore the rest. Obi-Wan gave Qui-Gon a quick hug and said, “Good night, Master.” 

When he turned to leave, Qui-Gon said, “One moment, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan stopped and looked up at him. “Master?”

Qui-Gon gazed at him for a long moment, as if evaluating him. Finally he said, “Well, you had a difficult day today . . . but we’ve been over all that.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Master.” He bowed his head, hoping he wasn’t in for another lecture. He was awfully tired.

“However,” Qui-Gon continued, “you were very honest, and you faced the consequences of your actions with some courage. I only had to remind you once or twice about making excuses.” Qui-Gon tapped the end of Obi-Wan’s nose, and the boy grinned ruefully. Qui-Gon’s voice grew gentle as he added, “You also showed compassion when many young men would not, and you’ve shown an admirable desire to re-dedicate yourself to our way of life.” He gestured toward the holocube in Obi-Wan’s hands.

Obi-Wan looked down at the cube and closed his fingers over it. He’d only asked for it in hopes of using it to ease his remaining pangs of conscience as he went to sleep, but the praise gave it a new value. He was unsure of what his Master meant about showing compassion, however, and gave him a puzzled look. 

Qui-Gon didn’t explain, but the soft look in his eyes suggested gratitude, as if he’d been given peace after a time of anxiety. Obi-Wan remembered he’d apologized for frightening him. //He was afraid I’d get myself killed if he didn’t punish me severely . . . and he was afraid I’d hate him if he did.// Well, maybe Obi-Wan had hated him a little, but it was a stupid, childish sort of hatred, and it had evaporated as soon as Qui-Gon offered him comfort and an explanation of the lesson. 

Qui-Gon unhooked Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from his belt and held it out to him. “Welcome back to the Jedi Order,” he said. 

Obi-Wan had nearly forgotten that Qui-Gon had taken his lightsaber, but was now overjoyed to get it back. He threw his arms around Qui-Gon and said, “Thank you, Master!”

“You’re welcome,” Qui-Gon said, returning the embrace. He gave Obi-Wan a pat on the back and said, “Now go on. Get to bed.”

“Yes, Master. Good night,” Obi-Wan said, taking his lightsaber in both hands.

“Good night,” Qui-Gon told him, with much unspoken fondness in his eyes.

Obi-Wan practically ran back to his room, stopping briefly to pick up the belt and robe he’d laid down while he was in disgrace. He didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to be exactly what he’d resented being that afternoon—a Padawan learner in good standing, who was pledged to following the Jedi way of life.

He went to the ‘fresher and readied himself for bed quickly, yet couldn’t quite resist another glance in the mirror at his sore bottom. He eased his pajama pants down and hitched his tunic up to his waist. Much of the redness had faded, but there were round purplish-blue marks in the center of each cheek, and smaller, oblong marks in the crease where his buttocks met his thighs. He was going to have to sit on those, and the thought wasn’t pleasant. 

He’d never been spanked so severely before, and the sight of his punished behind saddened him for a moment. It hurt to think that he’d earned a punishment so terrible. Then he considered the fact that the discipline had been necessary to keep him safe, and to train him in the sense of duty that was the soul of a Jedi’s honor. Qui-Gon had meant the pain to be a solid guardrail of discipline that would help keep him on the right path. When Obi-Wan thought about it that way, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it felt kind of good. It felt safe. 

He turned out the light in the ‘fresher and got into bed, arranging himself carefully on his side. He set the holocube on the mattress beside his pillow, and touched the tiny power switch. Within moments, he’d called up the image of Master Elik-Nor.

The small, flickering image introduced itself, and asked how it could be of service. “I need to talk to you about following the Code, even when it’s hard,” Obi-Wan said sleepily. “I did something wrong today . . . and my Master punished me. I don’t want to disappoint him again.”

“A wise goal, young one,” the image of the Master said gravely. She began inquiring about the particulars of Obi-Wan’s situation, but the conversation didn’t get far. Obi-Wan soon closed his eyes, thinking it was just for a moment, and then he was asleep. 

The still-burning light in his room kept his sleep from being a deep one, however, and he had a series of brief, half-realized dreams, interrupted at periods with the awareness that he ought to set the holocube on the nightstand and turn off the light. 

Eventually, Qui-Gon came in to do it for him. Obi-Wan was dimly aware of his Master gently picking up the holocube from the mattress and turning off the bedside light. Qui-Gon usually kept his mental shields up relatively high around Obi-Wan, which was proper, since there were things adults did not share with their children. At the moment, however, Qui-Gon’s mind was nearly unguarded. Through a thin layer of dream, Obi-Wan sensed a deep, sorrowful tenderness from his Master. Qui-Gon had somehow gotten the delusional idea that Obi-Wan looked beautiful and innocent as he slept, and now he second-guessed his decision to be so strict. The memory of hearing Obi-Wan’s sobs truly pained him, especially since the boy had sincerely thanked him for the correction. Could the lesson have been taught another, more gentle way? Qui-Gon imagined the man Obi-Wan would one day be. Would that man look back on this night with resentment and a sense of betrayal, or with the gratitude Obi-Wan had said he already felt?

As far as Obi-Wan was concerned, these were silly questions. He couldn’t imagine growing up bitter toward his Master over a paddling, particularly one that had been so well-deserved. He reached out through the Force and assured Qui-Gon that he still loved him, and that he trusted him to have done the right thing. 

Qui-Gon had apparently been unaware that he was eavesdropping. Obi-Wan picked up a moment of surprise and embarrassment from him, and then his mental shields went up even higher than usual. Qui-Gon grabbed the hem of the bedsheet and twitched it up over Obi-Wan’s head. “You ought to be asleep,” he said sternly.

“I was,” Obi-Wan countered groggily. 

Qui-Gon’s response was a mock-disapproving noise. He rested his hand on Obi-Wan’s head, which was still beneath its covering of bedsheet. Obi-Wan expected him to turn and leave after a brief goodnight touch. Instead, Qui-Gon stood there for some time, smoothing Obi-Wan’s hair until the caress became a kind of solemn blessing. Finally, the Master Jedi bent down and kissed him gently just above his ear. “Goodnight, my Padawan,” he said softly. 

“Goodnight, Master,” Obi-Wan answered. After that, Qui-Gon turned and walked quietly out, closing the door behind him.

Obi-Wan slept on his stomach that night, but he slept well. 

****

END


End file.
